


cherry cola

by piperpied



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, I apologise, M/M, Motorcycles, but im too lazy and love it as it is, can i be jihoon in this thanks, dw ill be writing different motorcycle woojin fics hold on ;), this was gonna be chaptered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperpied/pseuds/piperpied
Summary: Jihoon gets abandoned by his friends at a frat party, and his only ride home is an annoying, snaggle toothed boy who literally just spilt his drink all over him. Oh, and he hates motorcycles with an undying passion.But its better than having no ride at all (right?)(or alternatively, the biker! woojin, 2park college au that everyone's been waiting for)





	cherry cola

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is my first time posting anything ive written on here... tbh i just loved this idea alot so i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it,,
> 
> also a big thanks to mandy for beta-ing for me and encouraging me to post this, ily alot even though we only started talking recently *heart guns*
> 
> ok im done, go watch these in love dorks have snarky banter

If Park Jihoon had one rule- that he hadn’t already broken- it was that he’d never ride a motorcycle. No, he’d never even _touch_ one as long as he breathed oxygen, as long as blood pumped through his circulation, as long as his marks were unchanging, flawless ‘A’s. Motorcycles were noisy and dangerous and frankly had woken him up too many times when he was cramming in 2 hour naps before class, after nights spent finishing one project or another. In his opinion, that was some solid reasoning and he planned on sticking to it no matter what. And no amount of romance films with boys in leather pants and tousled hair would change that.

 _Even if_ , hypothetically, there was some cute, helmet-wearing boy sitting on that bike with a smile that was soft and hard at the same time, teasing him with “what else have you got to lose?”  
God no; _especially_ not then.

He hadn’t planned to go out with Daehwi and Jinyoung on Saturday night, the week before half yearlies slammed into them all like a tonne of bricks. The night was cool, teased with the spiced, earthy aroma of damp soil and wood smoke and Jihoon shivered into his red cardigan; probably something his mother would rip off of him before letting him set foot out of the house. Whatever. He was basically an adult now, and anyone who said he couldn’t wear what the hell he liked could mind their own, miserable business. It’s Jinyoung who ends up driving them all there, Daehwi sneaking his glances and shoulder touches in the front seat while Jihoon slumps in the back, scrolling blindly through his messenger notifications.

He’d save the world for his friends, but the third wheeling is something he’d rather chance out on. _Really, very much_ he thinks as the two make out loudly at a red traffic light.  
“Ugh, I’m gonna need an eye donor after this trip,” he groans, partly just trying to piss them off.  
Instead, much to his annoyance, they both break into giggles, looking down and pulling apart.

“Mhm, Jihoonie hyung, that’s just because you’re jealous,” sings Daehwi, glancing fondly at his boyfriend.  
_Right_ he thinks.  
“Nope,” Jihoon shoots back without glancing up, “because you know what would be even worse than watching you guys? Going on a double date with you guys.”  
Jinyoung clicks his tongue, accelerating past the now green light.  
“Wow,” he sighs pitifully, “you’re right Daehwi,” sneaking in a smirk through the rear view mirror.  
Jihoon kicks the back of his best friend’s chair, and slumps further into his seat, throwing his hoodie over his head to hide his sulking.

When they arrive, the Delta Sigma fraternity house is pounding with bass that seems to shake its very foundations, battling with the roar of voices inside. The door is flung wide open, dim yellow light spilling onto the patchy lawn out the front where Daehwi, Jinyoung and Jihoon saunter up the stairs.

Jihoon feels the familiar flutter in his chest that parties like this always provoke; somewhere between nerves and dread for the next hour or so to come, usually spent by the snacks or sitting on those bean bag chairs if they’re civilised enough to even have those (which usually isn’t the case in college). Thankfully, it’s not exactly some random stranger’s party this time around; Daehwi kept dragging him along to those what with his multitude of social connections, and while he’d normally ditch them for studying,, it was due time he actually left his room and saw his other friends.

They squeeze through the adjoining hallway that branches off into a steep staircase and two lower level rooms, populated with a few couples hooking up, and one guy snoring away on a step. He snorts, recognising him as Kim Jaehwan, an active member of Delta Sigma, who he knows through his boyfriend Minhyun — one of the upperclassmen in his own dorm house.

Daehwi and Jinyoung continue down the hall, but Jihoon doesn’t miss the opportunity to draw a tiara on his forehead with the pink sharpie in his back pocket. The pink isn’t really his colour but it does the trick and Jihoon smiles at his handiwork before following the other two down the hall.

Once he reaches the living room, packed with gyrating bodies and littered with beer cans, Jinyoung and Daehwi are only light brown specks in the crowd. _Shit_ , he curses internally, already regretting allowing Daehwi to drag him into this. Granted, it was always like this; they got separated, transported to the couch, or some back room where Jihoon had once accidentally walked in on them (purify his poor eyes please) trying to find reception on his phone for Bakery Story.

A loud crash resounds from his left side, and Jihoon winces. It sounds a lot like glass. He strains his neck over the crowd now pushing against him, swallowing him in bit by bit, and he manages to catch a glimpse of a tall, blonde haired boy rushing over to a table strewn with bits of glass and flowers. A flash of recognition dances across his mind, giving way to relief.  
“Daniel hyung!” Jihoon yells over the commotion, edging his way (with difficulty) to the disaster scene ahead.  
Daniel looks horrified by whatever he’s done (assumably breaking a vase of flowers) and he doesn’t register his voice at first.  
As Jihoon slides between two bodies to press closer, he nudges someone harshly, and the stranger yelps, wetness splashing onto Jihoon’s front. Fucking great he thinks, cursing loudly and touching the wet patch. His white shirt is now decorated with a massive brown, wet outline, looking vaguely like projectile diarrhoea. _Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any better._

His temper possessing him, Jihoon yells something unintelligible at the guy, who doesn’t seem to have realised half his fucking _beverage_ is now all over Jihoon’s front. But this time he hears it, whipping his head around. The smile fades instantly from his face. Jihoon can’t make out his features well in the dim light, but the boy’s skin is dark- darker than Jihoon’s, and honey tinted.  
The boy’s mouth opens slightly, eyes widening in shock at the state of Jihoon’s shirt before shifting up to Jihoon’s expression of anger.

And then he laughs.

Jihoon wants to light a firework and set it off right in front of the boy’s face, anger surging within him. Except that would probably kill him too.

The stranger has stupid red hair and a snaggle tooth that’s more obvious as he cackles (which Jihoon can’t actually hear over the thumping music), glinting with the scarce overhead light, making his face seem something between menacing and like a teasing kid.

With a final yell of exasperation, which only serves to make the stranger crack up more, tears glittering in his dark eyes, Jihoon swerves away, stomping back in the direction he was headed. Ahead of him, all he sees is red. _Freaking fantastic, now I’m going to embarrass myself in front of Daniel’s friend and all these senior kids, and just-_

“Jihoon!” A low, melodic voice pierces through the layer of music and conversation, a familiar voice close to his ear. Jihoon glances a step forward from Daniel to see Ong Seongwoo, another senior in Daniel’s year, in full. He’s wearing a black turtleneck, his hair recently dyed black instead of his usual chestnut brown. Jihoon wants to throw a table because someone cannot look that good.

“Seongwoo!” Jihoon makes an effort to smile, trying to forget his dissent towards the redhead.  
They edge towards each other, hugging, and Seongwoo’s hand rests on his shoulder when they pull away.  
“What, uh happened with Daniel?”  
Seongwoo side glances to the blonde ruefully, who’s on the floor with a tiny dustpan sweeping up fragments of glass and leaves. A cat curls around his ankles, slightly petrified by the music and people.  
“Ah, that was actually my fault,” he scratches the back of his head, “was trying play beer pong with my toes and it just kind of,” he makes a long “whoosh” sound and gestures wildly, “… yeah.”  
Jihoon can’t help but laugh despite himself. Of course; it’s exactly the kind of stupid thing that would happen to his hyung and Daniel would be there as moral support, picking up the pieces, whatever.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just want Daniel hyung on his knees-,” Jihoon teases, raising his eyebrows at the 95 liner suggestively. Seongwoo claps a hand over the younger’s mouth, pupils widening comically, then he’s shaking his head, “Mmm, nope, no clue what you’re talking about.”  
Jihoon chuckles, “I said I knew better.”

Jihoon is greeted by the others hanging around the table; Daniel, all grins and tall limbs; Jisung, who graduated a few years ago but who Jihoon met through his other hyungs; Minhyun and Sungwoon, incidentally searching for Jaehwan (Jihoon says he has no idea); and Guanlin, the freshman boy (and friend) that he tutors, who attaches himself to Jihoon stubbornly.

The party passes by in a blur, Daehwi and Jinyoung eventually rejoining them so it’s just their little party of 8, give or take a few, milling around the corner, until Daniel rejoins the party to dance with a Park Sooyoung and Kim Chungha. Jihoon still looks like a hot mess, or more a freezing one due to the chilling autumn wind grazing his chest from the open window nearby, hitting the sticky, brown patch. He thinks back to Snaggletooth (that’s what he’s calling him from now on), and frowns ruefully. Jihoon is notorious for holding grudges, and although he doesn’t know his name, the boy is definitely on his hitlist; his death note, if you will; you get the gist. And no, he isn’t being melodramatic; Snaggletooth is a bad omen and that’s certain.

So when he finally feels like leaving after about two hours, and realises Daehwi and Jinyoung have all but vanished into thin air, Jihoon is more than a little pissed. Just when things were starting to improve, a few shots pulsing through his blood stream and loosening the tight, messy knot of his mind. He feels like laughing into the air like a lunatic, _of course they’ve left and so have Seongwoo,Daniel, Sungwoon and Jisung, and Minhyun has mysteriously vanished with half- asleep Jaehwan._ Jihoon realises he is truly alone in the house, surrounded by strangers who are also, incidentally, frat boys (they’re meant to be Jaehwan’s friends but he honestly isn’t sure at this point).

Deciding against just curling up in a room and falling asleep, he wanders onto the front lawn, sort of swaying and suddenly super entranced by the full moon hovering above a thicket of pine trees. It looks kind of nice, peaceful. He frowns. _I’m jealous of the moon, what the fuck_ , he mutters inwardly, stumbling forward and regaining his balance. He can’t pinpoint exactly why he’s out here, because it isn’t like a car is going to magically fabricate in the air in front of him and take him away home. So he just kind of stands there, body trying to catch up with his mind.

In the span of a second, there’s a mechanical growl and the whistle of wind from the corner of road beside him, tousling his fluffed fringe. He shivers. “Am I having some weird Cinderella moment?” is the first thought that pops into his mind. And, that sound, the low rumble of an engine, that would usually bring with it an onslaught of dread, isn’t quite as menacing in his laxed state.

 _Huh_ , he thinks with a lazy smile, _I really shouldn’t mix with tequila next time._

A pair of headlights draws his long shadow across the black asphalt, and Jihoon shields his eyes, squinting until the engine is killed and the lights die down.  
His mind screams at him, _oh my god you’re getting kidnapped by mafia, you betta run kid_ , but his body doesn’t respond, and he removes his hand from his eyes.

He’s confronted by a figure in all black; leather pants, hoodie and all.  
And he realises with a start that it’s _him_.  
All tanned. His eyes conspiring with the darkness.  
_Scratch mafia, this could be even worse._

“Long time no see,” the boy calls, lips quirking to reveal his teeth as he makes no move to disembark from the bike.  
Jihoon can’t decide which he’d like to set on fire more; the bike, or his grin.

“Yeah, well my shirt certainly remembers you,” Jihoon shouts back, hating the way his voice wobbles at the end, body swaying slightly.  
The stranger (isn’t he?) chuckles softly, the sound reverberating in the empty street, the party music pounding faintly in the distance.

“You look a little lost out here,” is the next thing that leaves his mouth, expression morphing into something less joking.  
Jihoon searches the boy’s expression for a hint of malice, in vain, unable to read the other’s expression. Which is supposed to be one of his talents as a criminology major, dammit.  
“No,” he lies, shaking his head, raising his palms, “I’mm gooood. Nothing to see. Just making my way home, like the humble guy I am.”  
“Mhm,” the stranger hums, though he doesn’t look in the least bit convinced. The moon and streetlamp provide a meek light, catching his dark red hair, fluffy and tousled by the wind. Jihoon has an urge to fix the stupid flick covering the side of his right eye.  
The engine stalls, grumbling lowly.

“If you’re going to ask if I want a ride, don’t bother,” Jihoon adds, “Motorcycles should be banned from the whole freaking continent.”  
The boy scowls. “You think I’m just gonna offer just anyone a ride? Wow, you must think pretty lowly of me.”  
Jihoon stumbles forward a little, smiling cynically and gesturing a tick in the air, “corr- ect.” Jihoon mock- pouts a little, “And also wow, I’m so disappointed.” Alcohol makes him even more sulky than usual.

“I mean, maybe if it was, like, your only way home… ” The boy’s voice trails off. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Kim Jaehwan makes this place all kinds of creepy late at night.”  
Jihoon is tempted to let that convince him, but he doesn’t show it. No. he will not be jumping on the motorcycle of the guy who just spilt his drink down his shirt and laughed at it.

“Maybe if you gave me fifty new shirts I would,” Jihoon sighs, “but even then, this was my favourite.”  
“I’ll tell you my name, how about that?”  
This makes Jihoon glance up. Because what? Sure, if it was actually the son of a mafia boss of course that would be a super valuable, even cool, thing. But a boy with a self- done dye job and stupid, witty way of talking that drove Jihoon in circles wasn’t exactly that.  
“Ok,” he begins, humouring him. He summons a smile to his lips, the one Jihoon uses to persuade cookies out of jars, or earn gold stars all over his collar in primary school. “So?” He waits expectantly, maintaining eye contact.

“After,” the other begins, “I give you that ride.”  
Jihoon scowls in annoyance, giving up on the façade.  
“I’d rather sleep here on the lawn than take a ride from a guy who won’t even tell me his own name,” he snaps.  
“Well, suit yourself. Just being generous, didn’t want to let you freeze out here in your soaked shirt, without that cardigan you had, though that’s probably for the greater good of fashion itself-“ the boy shakes his head, shifting in his seat to a more suitable position.  
Jihoon’s jaw drops on the floor then, and he scrambles to pick it back up. _I lost my favourite cardigan_ , collides with, _holy shit he just insulted my favourite cardigan after drenching me with cola, how much of a prick can one be?_ and he suddenly realises what a true idiot he would be if he stayed here, shivering to death, in the middle of a bitter Autumn night.

“Hey!” he shouts over the rumble of the motorcycle, putting on his lowest, manliest voice (which is kind of pathetic if he’s being honest).  
Jihoon scampers across the lawn in his white t-shirt, laces trailing, until he’s just above the redhead on the bike. He registers, then, that the other is probably taller than he is standing up. This annoys him for some reason.  
“I can’t believe I’m trusting you- no, forget that, I’m not trusting you-“ he takes a breath, “but I don’t want to be an idiot and die a young death on this sad excuse of a lawn.”  
The boy peers at him now, this gaze somehow the same and totally different close up. He cocks his head, sparrow- like, as though he’s reading a page in a language he doesn’t quite understand.  
Jihoon feels himself squirming under his gaze.  
Then his expression is replaced by a loud smirk, once again showing off that notorious tooth that Jihoon has come to loathe in a short 2 hours.  
“Ok, but isn’t it me you should be thanking for basically saving your life?”  
_Ugh seriously_. “Shutup,” mutters Jihoon, swinging a leg over the leather seat, “you’re giving yourself way too much credit.”  
They pause for a beat.

“Uh, mystery boy,” starts snaggletooth reluctantly, “you kind of need to hold on if you want to ride the bike.”  
Right, Jihoon thinks.  
“I know, just making sure you weren’t gonna try and sabotage me or something by, uh, not telling me that.”  
_That made no sense but ok._  
Jihoon hesitates for a millisecond. Stuff it. He puts an arm around the boy’s chest, then drops it a little to his waist and winds the other around on top.  
“Ok?” Jihoon asks, feeling a bit pathetic.  
Instead of replying like a sane person would, the boy revs the bike and they shoot off down the street.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t scream his fucking lungs out.  
The other boy laughs full- on, the noise tumbling away, discarded into the night air rushing by.  
Jihoon feels the vibrations through his arms, the way his stomach hardens a little with it.  
“You’re still here so I guess it’s fine,” yells the honey- skinned boy over the motor, “but you gotta direct me to your place now.”  
Jihoon faintly realises that the combination of alcohol and adrenaline has rendered him almost incapable of logical, practical thought. He tightens his grip on the boy’s waist, pressing the length of his chest against the other’s warm back. His shirt is still freezing and wet.  
_I hope he stinks like cherry cola in the morning as well_ , Jihoon thinks happily.

It takes them about 25 minutes and a million wrong turns before Jihoon’s dorm house finally looms into view on the corner of an intersection. They sidle up nearby it, and the other boy cuts the engine, letting Jihoon hop off. Only, he takes about five minutes, because his legs are jelly from the ride, and he hates how he can feel the smirk emanating from the other boy.

“You know, if you stopped scowling all the time, you could totally pull off that ‘got cola spilt on my shirt by a random hot stranger’ look,” Snaggletooth comments, as Jihoon rights his windswept clothes and ruffles his fringe.  
He scowls.  
“Are you ever gonna tell me your name, or will I just call you dick head from now on?”

The boy hums, considering this with a pensive tap to his chin.  
“Ok,” he resolves, locking eyes with Jihoon, “you first though.”  
“Are we really playing this game oh my god I can’t believe you-“  
“Park Woojin,” the boy cuts in. He snaps his eyes to Jihoon’s, then flits them away, out to the road.  
Jihoon belatedly realises this isn’t, in fact, his own name mispronounced, but _his_.  
“Hm, I think I’ll stick to calling you asshat,” he retorts.  
He, Woojin, seems to snap back into reality, glancing back at Jihoon.  
“Likewise, pretty boy.”

Jihoon doesn’t know how to react to that. He chooses to look remotely annoyed, pouting a little.  
Woojin’s expression flickers between amusement and something entirely different altogether.  
Without another word, he revs the engine, breaking Jihoon’s gaze and then he’s shooting up the stretch of road, and is gone.

Jihoon huffs, feeling the severe loss of his favourite, cosy cardigan as another cold gust rips up the air and the dry leaves hanging on trees.  
With a final hum, he shuffles up to the door and unlocks it. It’s not long before he’s falling into the warm folds of his sheets.

 

He can remember to be annoyed at himself for riding a motorbike and trusting a certain Park Woojin in the morning.


End file.
